Bite Me
by Lahdolphin
Summary: The monsters have come out to play. SUPERNATURAL-AU
1. Don't Look or It Takes You

Kirihara Akaya is not a normal university student.

He drinks a little, forgets a homework assignment now and again, gets average grades, manages to feel a girl's boob from time to time—normal stuff that normal people do.

Kirihara is lying in his bed counting the lines on his dorm ceilings and trying to remember how he put that crack there. He begs his brain to let him go to sleep, but his mind is too preoccupied by thinking about the monster sitting across the room watching him from inside the closet.

See? Not normal.

Its crimson eyes have not moved once since Kirihara first laid eyes on it an hour ago, shortly after he had turned off the lights and crawled into bed. He thought it was Zaizen or Hiyoshi playing a prank, but after looking closer, Kirihara realized it was a single, immobile entity and it was alive.

It is perfect in every way down to each blond hair and its eyes are as dark as blood. Its chest seems to heave up and down. It is clothed in a suit as dark as night that clung to its frame—it is slim, but an underlying muscle tone catches Kirihara's eye. It is a creature of perverse beauty. Kirihara could not tear his eyes away from the beast in the shadows.

In the beginning, he thought it was a dream, a hallucination from lack of sleep or that Taco Bell he ate. You see, sometimes, Kirihara dreams of things that are not normal. He dreams of monstrous creatures that belt out beastly gurgles and of witches and warlocks that control the dead. He dreams of demons and devils and angels and beasts, the things nightmares are made of.

But this time, this time is different. When he saw a ragged claw mark scrapped into the wall near his closet, he knew this thing was not a figment of his imagination, it was real and it was alive.

Demons are a thing of myth, something his Christian mother taught him and his Shintoist father did not speak of. They were creatures of his imagination, something in the back of his head that could never harm him. They were restrained to his dreams, his nightmares. Until that night.

Kirihara lifts the sheets up to his chin, toes curling and fingers clutching the sheet so tightly he could have sworn he heard it tear. His breath comes out quickly as his heart pounds relentlessly. He blinks and when his eyes reopen, the red eyes are closer.

The beast had moved.

It creaks and slithers like a snake fresh out of a new skin, moving smoothly like silk. Kirihara cannot tear his eyes away. It approaches the bed.

Kirihara sucks in a breath.

The bed dips and creaks.

Kirihara closes his eyes.

The breath that hits his neck is cold.

Kirihara's eyes shoot open.

It is sitting on top of him.

A frigid, pale hand slides over his mouth and became the only thing that keeps him from screaming. The beast resembles a man, a young man, but Kirihara knows that could not be true because men did not feel like ice, did not have canines like fangs, did not reduce his world to fear and anxiety.

Its red eyes are filled with rage. Hate. Murder.

It slides its hand away from Kirihara's mouth. Kirihara jerks back, his back hitting the wall and heart hitting his sternum. He waits for the beast to advance, but he only hears laughter.

It is perverse laughter, too, smooth and dark like spilled ink creeping along parchment. It is twisted and settles as a lead ball in Kirihara's stomach; Kirihara can't force himself to breath.

He wants to run. There's a feeling deep in his gut screaming for him to just get out, but he can't. His green eyes fall upon the monster's crimson eyes, and he is frozen.

It crawls forward, ensnares Kirihara against the wall, and opens its mouth. The light from the window catches and reflects on its fangs, sharp and long like a cat's. It cocks its head to the side at a degree that Kirihara is certain means death for a human. Then its lips twitch into a Cheshire smile, all fangs and murder.

Kirihara blinks.

And the creature is gone.

* * *

**Chapter 1  
**_Always Watching, Don't Look or It Takes You_

* * *

Kirihara googled _Dracula_ and watched clips from _Nosferatu_ the next day because that seemed like a logical thing to do. It only severed to make him more paranoid as he now believed the creature would return, control his mind, then stand creepily in a coffin-like doorway only to return late in the night to suck his blood. He was fairly certain he was going to buy silver and garlic and any other cliché item thought to ward of vampires.

Because, as he realized, it was not a demon that visited him, but a vampire.

On second thought, that didn't sound any more believable.

"What has you so distracted?" Zaizen asks.

"A vampire in a designer suit," Kirihara replies dully.

Zaizen clicks his pen in response—_click, click, click_. Kirihara tries to ignore his friend's incessant need to annoy people (though Zaizen does so unconsciously) and focus on his professor's lecture. Apparently the body has about five liters of blood, give or take depending on gender and height. A person will die after losing approximately forty percent of that, or two liters.

Kirihara thinks about how long it would take to lose two liters. It depends on the site of injury, he figures. He imagines having a few seconds, maybe only ten, to have a full cognizant thought while his throat spews out his life force and he passes out. He imagines this in slow motion, having a full ten seconds that felt like an eternity, and then imagines those few seconds passing like the blink of an eye— "oh shit, it got me" would probably be his last thought. Because he is certain his death will involve the blond vampire.

He wonders what he would do, what he would think—he wonders if he would even have time to process what had happened. Would it be a moment of blind panic? Would he scream, could he scream if his windpipe was broken? Or would he just stare into red eyes as dark as the blood pooling around his head...

_Click, click, click._

Kirihara stares at the blank note page on his laptop and wishes Zaizen would stop clicking.

"Stop, Zaizen," Hiyoshi says from Kirihara's other side.

_Click, click, click. _

Almost like a heart, Kirihara thinks.

"Stop," Hiyoshi repeats.

Silence.

When the lecture is finally over, Kirihara slides his laptop into his messenger bag and stands to leave the lecture hall. Hiyoshi and Zaizen flank him on either side as they enter the labyrinth of the Science Hall, and although it seems safe, Kirihara does not feel safe. He looks over his shoulder, Hiyoshi and Zaizen repeating the motion almost instantly. He isn't sure what he expects to see.

"Are you alright?" Hiyoshi asks as the three of them turns their heads to face forward.

"Vampire in a designer suit," Zaizen says.

"Ah. Better than a werewolf, at least."

Kirihara's dreams are somewhat of a joke, even if his multiple psychiatrists do not see it that way. Every medical or psychological professional he has seen has been convinced he is a nutjob (Kirihara agrees), but could find not proof. He is tipping on the edge of insanity, but there is no biological reason for him to be. They always toss schizophrenia medicine at him, but it never works. He is just a natural born freak.

"Do you want to get coffee?" Zaizen asks, looking at Kirihara. "We could work on our papers before playing a set or two."

Kirihara grumbles, "I have an appointment." With psychiatrist number six—no boobs, answers questions with questions, and believes mints pass as candy. "Kill me now."

"Are you going to tell her about the vampire in the designer suit?"

It was a dream, it was a dream, it was a dream.

"I have to. Bitch knows when I'm lying. She's freakin' telepath of something."

It wasn't a dream.

...

Kirihara matches his psychiatrist's blank stare. She taps her pencil against her little black notebook waiting for him to speak, but he will not cave. He is a professional psychiatric patient and knows all of their little tricks.

He remembers his first trip to a psychiatrist about six years ago, when he was sixteen. He had seen a wolf-man creature thing (he quickly learned "werewolf" was not the right term to use unless you wanted to go to an asylum), and the wolf-man-thing had talked to him.

"They're coming, _they're coming_," it breathed for nearly half an hour. It's breath reeked of blood and rotten meat. "They're coming for _you_."

He found his father's alcohol stash and drank himself silly just to make the thing shut up. He almost died. They called him suicidal. No one believed the story of the wolf-man-thing; Kirihara knew he wouldn't if someone told him that.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Kirihara?" Dr. Fukuda asks with a warm smile. She is only thirty something, but she could pass for a twelve year old. She wears glasses and a ponytail and Kirihara is fairly certain she is color blind because she mixes up green and red a lot.

Once, Akaya mentioned dreaming about a floating head with red eyes and snakes for hair, and she asked if he thought it had anything to do with the fact that he had red eyes. That's when he decided she couldn't even tell that his eyes were green.

"Kirihara?" Dr. Fukuda prompts. "This is a safe place here. No judgement. You can tell me."

"I saw..." Kirihara crosses his arms. Even after six years, he still hates this. "I saw a vampire."

Dr. Fukuda nods once, judging him over the rims of her out-of-style glasses. "I see. A vampire. What did this vampire look like?"

"I don't know. It was wearing a suit, like one of those expensive ones rich idiots can afford. Like, better than that Armani shit. He was pale, with red eyes—red, not green—and was cold. At least, his breath was cold."

"Breath? This vampire could breathe?"

Kirihara scrunches his face in confusion. "Well, yeah, he did. So what?"

"Vampires don't breathe."

"Vampires aren't supposed to be real!"

"So you agree that you saw something that is not real. Is that correct, Kirihara?"

He hates when she tricks him like that.

He remains silent, staring at her until she says, "What did this vampire do? Did it tell you anything? Anything at all?"

"No. Not really." Kirihara thinks back to the previous night, then says, "It may have laughed. It _did _laugh. I just—I don't know why. It could have killed me, but instead it laughed. Then, it left."

"It only laughed?" she asks. Kirihara nods. She taps her little black notebook, which she never uses to take notes in. She hums and poses the question, "Where was this vampire? In a coffin? A forest?"

"My closet."

"The closet?"

"Yes, the closet. It just stood there."

When she asks if he was having homosexual urges, he leaves. She is the worst psychiatrist he has ever had. He is not gay. A vampire in a suit is out to get him. It really isn't that hard to comprehend.

...

Kirihara met Zaizen and Hiyoshi through a fluke. It was their first week of their freshmen year of university and Kirihara had gotten a little too wild. He went to this party in an upper class dorm. He ended up drinking something that made him throw up, taking some pill, getting a blowjob by a girl in her boyfriend's room, and waking up in the plaza fountain within twelve hours. It was awesome, even if he didn't remember all of it.

He woke up at seven in the morning and saw Hiyoshi and Zaizen standing there. Zaizen had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a phone in his hand. Kirihara could hear the snap, snap of pictures being taken. Hiyoshi had his phone out too.

"Perverts," Kirihara grumbled. He was vaguely aware that he was in his underwear. Later he learned that he had a penis drawn on his ass and to this day he still has no idea how that happened.

Hiyoshi put his phone down at that point. Zaizen took another picture and said, "Aren't you in my Sociology class?"

"Dude, don't talk so loud," Kirihara replied. Zaizen took a drag of his cigarette and let out a puff of smoke. "And those things will kill you."

Hiyoshi rolled his eyes. "Like alcohol is any better."

"Shut up. _Urgh_." Kirihara grabbed his head. It throbbed. He felt as if a demon had taken a sledge hammer to his skull to play the drums and used his brain to rock out to Smoke on the Water. He attempted to stand, but could not quite find his feet. He looked down, thinking that would help. He saw something else beside his reflection when he looked down into the water. Something was floating.

Kirihara leaned forward until his head was no more than a foot away from the water. A disembodied eye stared back at him, the nerve still attached to the back and was wiggling in greetings. It sat in the middle of his reflection, like it was his own eye.

The iris was apple green and so familiar. Kirihara reached up to his face and prodded at the region below his eyes. The left was fine. The right was hollow. He could dip his fingers into the socket—wet and hot and bloody. The eye in the water stared at him as the nerve weaved in the water; the eye was moving.

"Come back, you fucker," Kirihara said.

He dropped to his knees, reaching out to grab his eye. He had to get a hospital. Could they put an eye back in? He could not pull of an eyepatch.

"Missing something? Besides your clothes and dignity?" Zaizen asked. He dropped the butt of his cigarette into the water, causing a ripple. When the tiny waves stopped, Kirihara could see his reflection. Two eyes stared back. He checked his sockets—they were his eyes.

Kirihara let out a sigh of relief.

"We're going to get coffee. You should come," Hiyoshi said. "You're drunk as hell and need some coffee."

"Besides, these pictures won't be worth much if we don't know your name," Zaizen added.

"It's Kirihara."

"Hiyoshi."

"Zaizen."

Kirihara ended up outside a local coffee joint in his underwear, soaking wet, trying to piece together what happened last night while Hiyoshi and Zaizen drank their morning coffee.

There are some things that bring people together; finding a hungover boy who thought his eyes was missing and offering him coffee is one of those things.

To this day, Kirihara is not allowed in that coffee shop. That's why, when he goes to meet up with Hiyoshi and Zaizen, they go in and order his hot chocolate for him. When they come out, tennis bags slung over their shoulders, Zaizen hands him his little tan and green Styrofoam cup and says, "They still recognize us."

Kirihara looks at the side of his cup and smiles. "They wrote 'naked guy' again. I think that should be my new nickname."

"It is to everyone in that coffee shop," Hiyoshi says. "We already finished our papers, by the way."

"Can you at least show me your outlines? I don't even know what the hell this thing is supposed to be on."

"Fine, but you owe me a new set of balls."

"A new set? Since when have you had balls?"

Hiyoshi reaches over and gently punches Kirihara in the arm. "Tennis balls, moron," he says. Kirihara laughs and rubs at his arm even though it does not hurt. If Hiyoshi wanted to hurt him, or anybody for that matter, it would be very obvious.

"I do recall you owing me a birthday present," Kirihara says, "so we're even."

"Damn."

"While we're talking about dues," Zaizen says, and Kirihara and Hiyoshi prepare for the worst, "you both owe me for destroying my robot last month."

"That was Kirihara," Hiyoshi argues. "He thought it was a ball machine."

"How was I supposed to know the thing had a flamethrower option?"

"Doesn't matter. You owe me," Zaizen says.

Kirihara groans because, shit, that's going to be expensive. He isn't exactly made of money. The only reason he's at school is because his parents want him to be. Same goes for his psychiatrist.

It takes them twenty minutes to reach the university tennis courts on the other side of campus. Kirihara sits on the ground next to the bench where Zaizen and Hiyoshi sit, tying shoes and checking racquet strings. They're laughing about a joke Kirihara has long since forgotten.

By chance, Kirihara looks up. He sees someone staring back.

His day could not get any worse.

They're standing underneath the tree on the other side of the court. Kirihara expects them to walk away, but they don't even move. They're a statue. Kirihara can make out a few features—skinny, ear-length hair (holy shit is that blue hair?), and red.

Its eyes are red.

Aren't vampires supposed to, you know, burst into flames or something in the sun? How was one able to stand right there?

Kirihara's heart pounds so quickly it aches.

The vampire lifts its chin just so, as if it is cognizant of the fact that Kirihara has spotted it. It does not move, just stands there, staring at Kirihara with those crimson red eyes.

The vampire puts a finger to its lip the way a mother does when going _shhh_.

Kirihara stands. Hiyoshi and Zaizen go silent and look up at their friend.

"You okay?" Hiyoshi asks.

Kirihara looks down at them for the briefest of seconds to see if they had looked. They hadn't. Kirihara looks back at the tree, but does not see anything. The vampire is gone.

"Kirihara?" Hiyoshi says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just peachy. Only going insane, you know, the usual."

...

If you travel into the middle of the woods outside of town, you will come across an old victorian house with dark ivy creeping up the pale edges with the windows planked from the inside with wood, and would feel a shiver run down your spine. In the uppermost room, decked from floor to ceiling with extravagant fabrics and colors, silver and gold ornaments, and glowing black candles, lives a monster.

A tall, well toned vampire smoothes his hands over the lapels of his plume suit as he examines his reflection in a large antiqued mirror. He adjusts his tie, pinching a bit of fuzz off of his black button down. He adds a amethyst and diamond encrusted tie pin to his ensemble. With one last twitch of the shoulder, the creature deems his appearance as perfect.

_Knock, knock. _

"Enter," the vampire orders. He turns on the soles of his shiny designer shoes and walks towards his ornamented four poster bed surrounded by black curtains. Before reaching for the curtains, he turns to the door. "Why do you feel the need to bother me? I have business to attend to."

A bland vampire is standing in the doorway in a plain black suit. Its skin is pale and its eyes red, like all vampires'. It bows briefly to its master. "Sir. Four from the Rikkaidai Clan were spotted patrolling along the boarder between the werewolves and their clan. Other information leads us to believe they are searching for the hero amongst the werewolves."

The master peels the black curtains apart, gazing at the creature who is lying on the bed. He is a vampire, young, his skin so pale it glows in the dim candlelit room. The young vampire lazily slides a hand through his curly blond hair, his red eyes locked on the master.

"Are you an imbecile?" the master hisses. His words are like icicles, sharp and frigid. The vampire on the bed rises to his knees, the fine silk sheets pooling to his groin; he is completely exposed without shame. The master lifts the vampire's chin with two fingers. "Do you really think they that foolish? The prophecy says a human boy will be the savior, not a filthy werewolf.

"I have seen the boy, this _hero_." The master slides his fingers up to the blond vampire's mouth. The vampire picks at the skin of a finger with the tip of his fang before darting his tongue out to lap up the drop of blood. "He is the one we seek. Tell Oshitari and Mukahi they are to follow the boy I spoke of earlier. I want to know everything about our destined hero so that I may crush him."

The vampire on the bed laughs excitedly and says, "Can I torture him? I want to torture him. Can I? _Can I?_"

The master slides a hand into the vampire's curled blond hair. "If there is anything left to torture after I have finished with him."

The vampire's smile is filled with perverse joy. The master moves his red eyes, locking daggers on the servant. "Go, and do not bother me again or you shall suffer the true death."

The servant leaves in a hurry, closing the door and walking down the hall.

"Lie down, Jirou," the master orders. The bare blond vampire lies down on top of the sheets, his skin white against the black; Jirou tilts his head back into the many pillows, his neck stretching.

The master sits on the edge of the bed, leaning over Jirou, fangs barred. The master leans in and—

"Yes," Jirou hisses as fangs broke skin and vein, drawing blood. The fangs dig in deeper when Jirou writhes back and forth, pleasure warmer than the sun spreading through his icy body. Arousal sweeps south, taking over his body and numbing his mind. Fingers thread into the master's flawless hair and tug, hard.

The fangs pop out and the master flicks his red eyes to Jirou's face. "Do not touch my hair. I have important business to attend to once I am finished with you."

Jirou slides his hand out of his master's hair down to his neck, fingers curling gently, almost lovingly, against his master's flawless skin.

"Sorry, Master Atobe."

"You are forgiven."

The master bites into Jirou's neck again and continues to drink.

...

They say there's a creature in the corner of your eye, always there, waiting for you to look away, to forget the paranoia in your gut telling you to run. Once you forget that there's a shadow lurking in the dark, it strikes. _They_ strike.

They're not human, not even close. They're monsters and you'd better watch out.

They bite.

* * *

**A/N: Happy Halloween!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis nor do I own any real-world company mentioned in this fic. The title for this chapter, "Always Watching, Don't Look or It Takes You," is from the game Slender, which I do not own.**


	2. Teeth Ground Sharp and Eyes Glowing Red

The sun retreats into the tree line as the moon comes out to play. Gusts of cool air whip back and forth, sharp and unyielding and howling like a beast. Two large men, one short and fat, the other tall and muscular, stand at the end of an old truck in the middle of a leafless forest where shadows writhe like limbs.

"Dark skin, eh?" the fat man with a gruff voice asks. He bangs his meaty hand on the elongated metal coffin in the bed of the muddy black pick-up. Something on the inside bangs back and shrieks, "I can hear you, you piece of shit!"

The muscular man who has more hair on his face than on his head laughs heartily. "Little girl's feisty!"

The "girl" inside the coffin slams her hands against the top and roared. Flames fly out of her mouth and lick at the metal to no avail. It would not melt; it would not even burn a dull red. She drags her chopped nails along the metal even though she knows it is useless. She's trapped. Again.

God damn she has bad luck.

"Let me out! Let me out! _Let me out!_"

"Shut up, vamp, unless you want to put those pretty little lips to work."

"I'm not a vampire, you inbred, sexist, moron!"

She hates supernatural bounty hunters with a passion. They should have looked into what species she was before they tried to pawn her off.

She slumps against the metal, ignoring the way it rubs against her bare shoulders. The least they could have done was given her some clothes. It was common decency, really. Perhaps they had at one point and she burned right through them, she could not remember. But they could have given her another set if that were the case.

Or some blood. She's starving.

She is about to give up and wait until the trade is in progress to escape when she hears a bang. It sounds like a head was rammed into her metal prison. She lifts herself up and presses her ear to the top of the coffin, straining to listen to the events that are occurring outside.

Strangled screams and grunts of pain find her prying ears. She's hungry enough to smell blood. It is not much, but it's there. Human, probably form the fat one. She really hopes it's from the fat one; he tried to feel her up before he realized she could make her skin burn his as easily as he could breath. Served him right.

Another bang, the second man hitting the coffin.

It is a raid, obviously, but who would raid low level, no name bounty hunters?

Crunch. _Crack_.

That sounded like a bone.

She smiles.

She hears a key being inserted into the coffin and leans back. The metal doors fold open and she gazes up into the sky for the first time in days. Trees frame an inky starry night, the leaves glowing in the moonlight. To her, the night sky is an endless beauty. She could gaze the vast emptiness for the rest of her life.

A face appears in her field of vision, ruining the scene.

"Who are you?" she snaps. Forget being naked, starved, and trapped in a coffin—she is pissed some freak with red eyes (vampire, she assumes, or perhaps dhampir) had ruined her first moment of freedom.

The creature (vampire, she decides) has short red hair and a warm smile not usually associated with vampires. He holds out a hand which she takes without thinking. The moment her skin touches his, he hisses and jerks his hand away. He looks at her curiously as he cradles his raw, burned hand against his chest.

"What are you?" the vampire asks. She gazes up at him, hesitant. He smiles. "We're not bounty hunters, slave traders, or anything like that. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to. How about your name?"

"Miyuki and I'm—"

She is strange, she knows that much, but she figures a vampire should know. Although, some didn't, which was probably better for her. She's worth a fortune to the right people, usually the sick and twisted bastards who are asking to have their family jewels burned off.

"I'm a dhampir," she answers.

"Ah," the vampire says. "I thought witch, but your eyes are red. Dhampirs are rare. What clan are you from? Fudomine?"

"I don't live with a clan."

The vampire extends his hand again; the burn is already healed. "I'm Marui, by the way, from the Rikkaidai Clan."

She does not take his hand as she had before. She sits up, her dark hair just short of covering her bare breasts. She can now see that Marui is one of several vampires—one with skin darker than hers, one with spectacles, and one with white hair. She sneers at the four red eyed vampires, flames forming on the tip of her tongue. Sparks shoot out of her mouth as she speaks.

"Well, I don't think I'm dressed to entertain royalty."

* * *

**Chapter 2  
**_Teeth Ground Sharp and Eyes Glowing Red_

* * *

The spectacled one—Yagyuu, she heard the white haired one call him—wraps Miyuki in a thick, fuzzy blanket found in the bed of the muddy pick up. She rubs the fur against her skin, recognizing it as werewolf. She looks down at the men who had captured her and prods at the fat one's stomach with her bare foot.

"Are they dead?" she asks.

"No," the dark skinned one answers.

"Our leader forbids us from killing human bounty hunters. It would draw too much attention," Yagyuu supplies. He places a hand on Miyuki's shoulder and smiles kindly at her; it is a fake smile she notes bitterly. "We would like for you to accompany us to see our leader."

"Do I have a choice? I suppose I should be honored to see the royal, strong Rikkaidai Clan leaders." Sarcasm drips from her tongue like sparks. She looks down and notices that she is still spewing sparks as she speaks. She inhales deeply through her nose and exhales gray smoke.

"You're a train," Marui says. Miyuki looks at him with murder in her red eyes. He adds, "And, no, you don't really have a choice. We have to show all seized cargo to our leader and you fit the definition of 'cargo.'"

"Fine. Then let's get this over with." Miyuki jerks away from Yagyuu's hand. "Take me to him. Take me to your leader."

They walk through the forest without regard of the terrain. Miyuki walks on ragged stones and through cold water, her bare feet cutting and scraping with every step. She has vampire on either side of her—front, back, left, right—and feels like a prisoner without the chains.

Two hours later, they stop at a black metal fence that surrounds a mansion. There was no other word for it—it was a mansion with a strange, unidentifiable beauty. It was ancient with red bricks and a black roof. Stone gargoyles sat on the corners of towers, twitching and flapping their wings restlessly. In the highest window, up at the very top, she can see a figure in a window. Before she can study the more detailed features, the gate swings open by itself and the vampires lead her inside.

So this is how royalty lives, she thinks as they take her to the top floor. There is a large ornamental door with shiny, gold, lion-shaped door knockers the size of her head. The black vampire steps forward and pulls on the heavy knocker; the sound rings like an echo.

"Come in," a gruff voice on the other side of the door says. They enter.

The room is painted a dark maroon that has an underlying purple tint. The floors are made of old wood of questionable integrity. Thick curtains cover the windows on the far side of the room. Black candelabras ranging in size are scattered through the room, some attached to the wall and others tucked out of sight behind suits of armor or ancient vases. The room is like a museum with artifacts from all over the world from different time periods.

On the far side of the room between two windows is a large antique armchair with plush fabric and intricate carvings on the dark wood. On either side of the chair is a vampire. One is tall, dark, and handsome, and appears to be wise beyond years (though Miyuki is certain the vampire is quite ancient despite his young face). The other is shorter and keeps his eyes closed. Miyuki thinks the gruff voice belongs to tall, dark, and handsome.

A pale vampire dressed in crisp black pants and a seamless black button down sits on the ancient chair with his thin legs crossed. He has the strangest color hair; it is blue and makes Miyuki feel has though she is gazing up into the night sky. His cheeks are slightly sunken, giving him a wasted look. The tips of tattoos are visible on his wrists.

When the door shuts behind them, the four vampires drop to a single knee and bow their heads. Miyuki stands tall, tugs her werewolf fur blanket tightly around her, and stares at the leader of the Rikkaidai Clan.

"Rise," the leader says. Instead of watching his followers rise, he watches Miyuki. "Who is this dhampir that you have brought to me?"

"She's—" Marui begins, but never finishes because Miyuki cuts him off, "I'm Miyuki and I ask to leave."

The leader smiles gently at Miyuki. "I am assuming you do not want to be here. Let me reassure you that the stories of my clan are lies. We do not slaughter humans for sport nor do we force our blood from unwilling suppliers. Those are falsehoods spread out of fear by humans, dhampirs, and vampires alike."

"I know," Miyuki retorts. "I still have no desire to stay here."

"Watch your tone," the vampire on the leader's right warns. It's Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. Attractive, Miyuki thinks, but looks like a walking weapon.

"It is fine, Sanada. Dhampirs—particularly those with magical blood—are known to be strong willed. I understand that much. And Yanagi, stop thinking what I think you're thinking." The leader rises from his chair, approaching the group of five in long strides. The closer he is, the more of his beauty Miyuki notices. "Why do you wish to leave?"

"How do you know I have magical blood?"

"I can tell."

Miyuki realizes she isn't getting a real answer, so she says, "There are dark times coming. They have been spoken by my people—vampire and witch—for generations. They say the royal kings will be caught in the middle and I don't want to be around you when that happens. I was traveling to my family's coven, Shitenhouji, when I was captured by a bunch of hillbilly bounty hunters."

"Then we are in quite a predicament. You see, the Hyotei Clan wishes harm upon us, as do many others. If I were to let you go to travel to your family clan, you could be captured and our location could be exposed. I cannot take that risk."

A hand lands on either of her shoulders; one is Yagyuu's, the other the white haired man's. Miyuki stares deep into the leader's red eyes and all the air in the room goes out. Her breath is stolen and she can feel the fire deep in her gut extinguish. She does not want to die, but she can feel death radiating from this man, this creature, and knows that he would not hesitate to cut her down. She feels as though he is older than Death.

"Please," she whispers. "I don't want to die. I won't speak. I swear. _Please_."

"I am glad you understand how dire these circumstances are," the leader continues with an unwavering smile. "You will not be harmed in any way, but you will not be permitted to leave. You will have your own room, your own clothes, and will be granted certain privileges as long as you agree to travel with guards. In a simpler sense, you will be our guest until these dark times have passed."

The leader looks at Yagyuu and the white haired man and says, "Yagyuu, Niou—take our guest to her chambers. The redone room on the third floor should be fine. Give her some blood as well and draw her a bath. Ask one of the servants for female clothing, I'm sure they can provide something suitable."

"Yes, Yukimura," Yagyuu replies. Niou mouths the words as Yagyuu says then. Sanada glares at him and Niou flashes a toothy smile with fangs.

Miyuki is walked away by Yagyuu and Niou.

...

Kirihara cannot remember the last time he had a dream. Since he saw the vampire, everything in his mind has became a nightmare that he can not escape. He usually has nightmares, but not like this. These nightmares are something else entirely.

His body aches from the pain that seems to radiate out of every pore in his body. His forearm is the worst. It throbs and burns, yet feels cold at the same time. There is something on his broken arm, heavy and wet.

He doesn't see it, he_ feels_ it.

Blood on his face, his arms, his chest, his legs. It is not his blood, he knows that much, but he does not know who it belongs to. He can't look at it because he can't pass out. He has something to do, it's not done yet, and he can't go passing out because of a little blood now.

There are corpses everywhere, some ripped to pieces, others still intact but covered in blood, and even more are pilled together in a mass of limbs and flesh. The smell is overpowering, making his stomach stir and his throat clench.

A single body out of the masses catches his eyes. Hunks of skin and muscle are missing from the body, but they do not appear to be torn out like the others. It is as if the flesh had rotted and slipped away. The body has a large tear in its neck, like something bit into it and yanked back, taking flesh and spilling blood.

The body is Zaizen.

Kirihara wakes up.

Kirihara sits in his bed for some time without moving. He's seen a vampire in a designer suit and dreamt of werewolves, but none of those visions ever felt so real. He has no reason to believe that what he dreamt was not a dream, but he knows. He knows Zaizen will die by a vampire's hands.

He turns on all the lights in his dorm room, walks through piles of dirty clothes to get to his desk, and opens his laptop. He pulls up Skype because Zaizen is always on the computer for some reason. He starts a chat conversation and hopes that he will get a response. He considers praying, but doesn't know who or what to pray to, so he doesn't.

_Zaizen u up?_

When he hears the beep, his chest deflates and relief washes over him.

_In class. Where are you? I texted you five times. _

Kirihara looks at the time on his laptop and swears. He's late.

Great.

...

Kirihara decides it's pointless to go to class for fifteen minutes, so he sits outside the Science Hall on a bench and waits for Hiyoshi and Zaizen to come out. Hiyoshi is talking and Zaizen is lighting up a cigarette. Kirihara waves stupidly and jogs over when he spots his friends, then falls into step with them.

"Any homework?" Kirihara asks.

"Besides that thirty page paper that was due today?" Hiyoshi asks. Kirihara feels a heart attack coming before Hiyoshi says, "No, moron. Did you even read the syllabus? There is no homework in that class."

"Who the hell actually reads those stupid things? They're twenty pages of dates and rules that I will never remember."

"My one o'clock was canceled," Zaizen says, changing the subject because he thinks it's more polite than telling someone to shut up. "Tennis, video games, or sitting in someone's room doing absolutely nothing productive for the rest of the day?"

"I vote for number three," Kirihara says.

"Number one," Hiyoshi says.

Kirihara glares. "You would."

Hiyoshi rolls his eyes.

"How about wii tennis in my room while we sit aimlessly?" Zaizen suggests, smoke bellowing out of his mouth.

Kirihara and Hiyoshi gurgle their responses. They've been walking to Zaizen's dorm since they left the Science Hall and they don't give a damn anymore.

Zaizen lives in one of the nicest dorms on campus and his room is a single to boot. Kirihara gets a single because he's a wacko and the campus cannot find anyone willing to live with him. Hiyoshi lives with some kid named Ohtori who spends most of his time with his boyfriend Shishido something-or-other.

Zaizen's room is full of video games and movie memorabilia, mostly Doctor Who and Star Wars stuff. There's a few of his old robots, which are pretty cool if you want a drink but don't feel like getting up. It smells a lot like febreze but with a hint of smoke, probably because he can't be bothered to clean properly.

Hiyoshi and Kirihara sit in the oversized beanbags in front of the television and accept the beers Zaizen gives them. It's not even lunch, but they really don't care. Zaizen's room is a judgement free zone.

They sit and drink and play games. Even though Zaizen's window isn't open they can hear the sounds of rambunctious students below, probably freshmen being hazed for a fraternity. Their off-key voices echo up into the air—anything from "I'm a little tea pot," to "Like a vir-ir-ir-ir-gin."

After two hours and one too many beers, Kirihara can't stand the noise anymore. He stands up and slams Zaizen's window open with so much force the glass rattles. He looks down at the courtyard bellow, sticks his head out the window, and bellows, "_Shut up!_" at the group of underwear-clad boys with megaphones.

Kirihara pulls his head back in. He continues to look down at the courtyard and sees two men staring back at them. One is significantly shorter than the other with obnoxious red hair; the other has strange blue-tinted hair. They are well dressed, like they're seniors going to give a presentation. Kirihara waits for them to move, but they don't. They just stand there, staring, watching Kirihara from four floors down.

The short one waves at Kirihara.

Kirihara hears Hiyoshi stand up and walk over. Hiyoshi stands next to him and sticks his head out of the window.

"You know them?" Hiyoshi asks.

"You can see them?"

"Of course. You're not _that_ crazy, Kirihara."

If Hiyoshi can see them, whoever or whatever they are, then they are real. The vampire in the designer suit was real, the one under the tree was real, and maybe every other fucked up thing he had ever seen was real too.

Kirihara can't breathe. His spit lumps in his throat like a ball of ragged, spiked ice. He's not insane.

Hiyoshi goes to tug his head back inside, but the window slams shut before Hiyoshi makes it the whole way back. The wood slices through Hiyoshi's neck and his head is cleaved straight off. Hot blood splatters onto the glass and the white window frame with a horrible, wet noise.

His vertebrae are visible, so are all the muscles and blood. So much blood. It pours out dyes Hiyoshi's skin red, then soaks into his shirt. His body remains standing; he stands and his hand reaches up to lock the window.

"Holy shit!" Kirihara screeches.

"Kirihara?" Hiyoshi asks.

Headless Hiyoshi turns to face him and Kirihara backs up. Hiyoshi hands clutch at his shoulders and Kirihara stares at the opening to Hiyoshi's body. The opening gets closer and Kirihara gazes into the hole. There is nothing inside of Hiyoshi now, just an emptiness. It is not black or white nor is it thick or thin. There's nothing inside, absolutely nothing.

Kirihara feels his mind reel. Insanity boils in his belly and races in his heart. He can hear cold laughter escaping from Hiyoshi's empty body. Pained screams are masked by the laughter. He faintly hears pleas and children crying, others begging to be spared.

_They're coming, Kirihara._

_They're coming for you._

Kirihara screws his eyes shut.

"Kirihara," Hiyoshi repeats. "Kirihara!"

Kirihara opens his eyes. Hiyoshi's head is back on his body. Kirihara's eyes dart to the window and there is no blood. It was his imagination. Hiyoshi is fine.

Hiyoshi shakes him forcefully and Kirihara looks at him again. Zaizen is also standing now, one of his hands clutching Kirihara's upper arm.

"Are you okay?" Zaizen asks. "Did you take your meds?"

"I took my meds. I just—" Kirihara shakes his head. Hiyoshi and Zaizen's hands move away from his body. "I just remembered I have a huge exam tomorrow."

"Bull," Hiyoshi says. "What did you see? Was it the vampire in the suit again?"

"No, it wasn't." Kirihara can't think of a lie. The nothingness has crept into his brain. "I need another drink."

"Kirihara—"

Kirihara cuts Hiyoshi off, "I'm fine, dude. It's nothing."

"You need another beer," Zaizen agrees.

Zaizen walks over to the fridge and grabs another bottle. Kirihara glances out the window—the two men are still there, staring, watching, waiting—and sits back down in the sunken beanbag. He takes the beer from Zaizen and presses the bottle to his lips.

Maybe he's still a little insane.

...

Yukimura sits sideways in his chair, legs dangling over an arm and back pressed against the other. Sanada and Yanagi stand silently as their leader kicks his legs restlessly and wiggles like a child. Yukimura tilts his head back and his blue hair falls with it. He looks tired and wasted.

"You have confirmed this?" Yukimura asks. He tilts his head so far back it looks painful. _Craaack_—Yukimura does not flinch at the sound popping from his neck. "Sanada, I need you to be sure."

"Yes, I am sure. I've spoken with everyone I know. Atobe and his most trusted men have moved into your territory and seek the human from the legend."

"I have looked in the matter as well, Sire," Yanagi adds. "The texts say the great battle will begin when Death walks under the hand of another. We have already discussed this matter and concurred that this has already taken place..."

Yanagi trails off there, his words hanging in the air.

Suddenly, Yukimura sets his head to a normal degree, waves a pale hand, and says, "Bring them in."

Four vampires enter the room through the large doors and drop to their knees, heads bowed in respect. Yukimura waves at them without looking. They stand.

"Niou, Yagyuu, Jackal, Marui." Yukimura frowns, purses his lips, and stops his legs. Then he says, "No, just Niou and Yagyuu. I want you two to find and watch the boy, the one we discussed earlier. I went to see him the other day and he was with two others, humans from what I could tell. I want them kept safe. I have a feeling that a friend of ours is planning again."

"Yes, Yukimura," Yagyuu replies.

"Sure," Niou says.

"Watch your tone," Sanada scolds, focusing his red eyes on the white haired vampire.

"It is fine, Sanada, if I had a problem if him then he would know. Although, I suppose that depends on if you can know things if you're dead. Hmm, the afterlife is a curious thought, isn't it?" Yukimura says this with ease, his legs kicking again.

"Marui and Jackal," Yukimura continues. "I want you two to watch over our guest. I sense that she will be important in all of this. Take her to a Wiccan store and buy her whatever she requests. I don't want her to feel as if she is our prisoner."

"She is," Sanada says.

"Yes, but I don't want her to feel that way, Sanada. The last thing I want is another enemy. I seem to have a lot of those lately. Well, more than usual at least. No matter, I will continue my reign if all goes according to plan." Yukimura pauses "You four may leave. Report back to me as soon as possible."

The four bow their heads and leave through the double doors. When the room as gone silent, Yukimura stands from the chair and crosses the room like a shadow. He seals the heavy doors with ease and turns to face his two most loyal and ancient companions.

"Follow Atobe. I do not want him stealing my hero."

"Yes, Sire," Yanagi says.

"Yes, Yukimura," Sanada says.

"Go," Yukimura orders, "and do not return until you have something useful to tell me."

Sanada and Yanagi leave through the windows. Yukimura is alone.

...

Miyuki's prison cell is a small bedroom with antique, elaborate furniture. A four poster bed with emerald sheets and amethyst accents occupies the majority of the room. A stack of bags from several local stores sit on the lush green love seat. Miyuki grabs a bag of clothes and slides behind a dressing partition that is caddie corned to the wall near the bathroom door.

She tosses the horrible dress a female vampire servant had given her, and shivers as the cold air hits her hot skin. Vampires obviously don't worry about heating a house when they have cold blood. Lucky her.

There is a knock at the door. Miyuki groans, "Come in."

She tugs a pair of black underwear up her legs and hooks on a spotted bra. She pokes her head around the partition. Jackal is placing a tray of food on the dresser at the foot of her bed and Marui is pushing her bags to the floor to sit down.

"Watch those!" Miyuki snaps. "I have crystals in those bags!"

"We know. We had to carry them for you."

Miyuki rolls her eyes and tugs on a red and white stripped sweat and a pair of jeans. She pads across the room and snatches a bag from Marui's hand. He smiles innocently at her, but she does not buy it. He's only doing as he is told.

The smell of blood hits her strong. She looks at the tray Jackal set down—it has a tall, thin goblet and a plate filled with bread and cheese. She walks over and picks up the goblet, downing the blood. Jackal raises his eyebrows slightly, as if in surprise, and stands by the only window in the room.

"So are you two my prison guards?" Miyuki asks as she picks up a roll of bread.

"No," Jackal answers.

"I'm not an idiot," Miyuki says. She bites the bread like a dead pig does an apple, picks up the tray, and walks over to the love seat. She puts the tray between her and Marui. "What do you two want now?"

"Your coven," Jackal says. "Shitenhouji, was it?"

"I'm not part of the coven, but they are my family. My magical blood comes from a coven member."

"What do they know about the prophecy?" Marui asks. He takes the goblet off the tray, peers inside, and frowns. "Did you have to drink it all?"

"Get your own," she snaps, taking the goblet from him. She sets it back on the tray and continues, "All they know is that a human will save an ancient vampire line from certain death. Rikkaidai is the oldest known vampire clan and seeing as how your leader is ill, you need a leader."

"He isn't ill," Marui says with ease.

"And I'm not a prisoner."

She matches Marui gaze for several seconds before her eyes go to the assortment of cheese on the tray.

"You aren't a prisoner," Jackal insists. "You are free to roam the mansion. You just can't leave without either of us."

Miyuki sinks into the sofa and pops a piece of cheese into her mouth. She knows she is a prisoner, but she will be damned if she lets these idiots control her. She just has to bide her time and wait for the right moment.

...

When Kirihara, Hiyoshi, and Zaizen run out of alcohol, they decide to go together to the convenience store just off of campus. The night air is cool and it would be pitch black if not for the lamps in the courtyard outside of Zaizen's dorm. The stars and moon are hidden behind an army of black storm clouds. Their shadows cross with the darkness and their drunken shouts cover the soft footsteps that trail them.

"A storm is coming," Zaizen says. "In a non-cliché way."

Hiyoshi snickers. Kirihara laughs simply because Hiyoshi does. It's a rare thing to see Hiyoshi laughing; he's usually got a huge stick up his ass.

Their shadows cross with the darkness and their drunken shouts cover the soft footsteps that trail them.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer," Kirihara sings.

"Take one down, hit Kirihara on the head, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall," Hiyoshi chimes in.

"Watch him fall, watch him bleed!" Zaizen adds loudly, laughing.

Hiyoshi and Zaizen each toss an arm onto Kirihara's shoulder, one from either side, and shout in unison, "Watch him piss his pants!"

"I'm Hiyoshi and I'm a stuck up ass. I'm Zaizen and I'm the biggest nerd in the world," Kirihara says in a sing-song voice. He runs in front of his friends and turns around to face them as he shouts, "And we're the magnificent asshole duo!"

Kirihara looks past his friends and feels fear settle in his stomach. The two from the courtyard are following them by twenty feet. When Kirihara meets their eyes, red and locked on him, their figures blur. In the blink of an eye, the two are right behind Hiyoshi and Zaizen.

Kirihara doesn't have time to scream. The short one with red hair grabs Hiyoshi by the hair and tilts Hiyoshi's head back sharply. The tall one grabs Zaizen's arms and twists them behind his back, drawing a pained scream from Zaizen.

For the first time, Kirihara has a good look at the two. Their skin is pale and their eyes red. They're wearing malicious smiles and are each is looking Hiyoshi or Zaizen's neck. Kirihara can see it in their eyes. They're going to kill his friends.

"What the hell do you want?" Kirihara shouts. His words are slurred and he knows he is too drunk to run away and that he's two beers past being able to throw a straight punch.

"We want you," the short red-haired vampire answers.

Hiyoshi jams his elbow into the short vampire's gut. The creature backs up and coughs, and Hiyoshi strikes. He swings his leg straight at the vampire's head.

"Mukahi!" the taller vampire shouts. He lets go of Zaizen's arms and reaches to grab Hiyoshi's leg. With a single hand, the vampire stops Hiyoshi's deadly kick. Hiyoshi jumps on his foot, struggling to battle the alcohol's effects on his body and keep his balance.

"Oshitari, watch out," Mukahi says.

Hiyoshi has formed a fist. Oshitari opens his mouth and hisses, revealing deadly sharp fangs.

"Holy shit!" Zaizen shouts, stumbling backwards and rubbing his wrists. "It's a vampire!"

Oshitari moves faster than what Kirihara's brain can comprehend. Hiyoshi is slammed into the brick courtyard, his head taking the brunt of the impact. Hiyoshi's eyes screw shut and he groans in pain. Oshitari lowers his head to bite Hiyoshi's exposed neck.

"Hiyoshi!" Kirihara screams. He jolts forward to grab onto the tall vampire, but Mukahi stops him. Mukahi rams into his side and knocks him to the ground. Kirihara mimics Hiyoshi's groan.

Hiyoshi headbutts Oshitari and Zaizen jumps onto Mukahi's back.

It's the most pathetic drunken fight ever. Kirihara is amazed they're not dead yet.

Mukahi reaches behind him and fists his hands into Zaizen's shirt. He tugs Zaizen up over his head in an overhead toss, and bashes Zaizen's body into the ground. Zaizen cough and sputters, grabbing his head. Mukahi kicks his side and Zaizen curls in on himself.

"Meat sack," Mukahi spits. Another kick and Zaizen is retching and gasping relentlessly. He passes out after vomiting the contents of his near-empty stomach.

Mukahi pivots and looks at Kirihara with dead, red eyes.

Kirihara can only hear the bone chilling wind. He looks over and sees Hiyoshi on the ground, unmoving, and Oshitari approaching Kirihara at a creeping pace. Kirihara crawls backwards, hands scrapping against the harsh, cold bricks. Oshitari's laughter rings empty like cemetery bells.

"Do you think we should kill him, Oshitari?" Mukahi asks. "I want to see what color heroes bleed. I hope its pretty. Pretty blood always tastes better."

Mukahi runs his tongue over his thin lips.

"He's Atobe's and maybe Jirou's if Atobe is feeling generous," Oshitari says. He pushes his glasses up his nose. "I almost pity the boy for what Atobe is going to do with him. Almost."

Mukahi cackles.

Kirihara looks up at them and realizes the alcohol is making him see double. He sees four sets of red eyes. The two new sets appeared in the shadows and are approaching Oshitari and Mukahi from behind. The eyes have bodies.

He isn't seeing double. He's seeing two more vampires.

The universe is out to get him.

Kirihara watches in horror as the two new vampires approach Oshitari and Mukahi. Then the last thing Kirihara expected to happen, happens.

The new vampires move like shadows and stop directly behind Oshitari and Mukahi. Silver points appear in the center of their chests and blood begins to spread out along their clothes like water. It takes a moment for Kirihara's alcohol-coated mind to realize Oshitari and Mukahi have been stabbed.

The new vampires draw the long silver stakes out of their chests. They do so with little difficulty, pushing the bodies away from their stakes and drawing them back and out. Oshitari and Mukahi hit the ground with a thump, their eyes open but their life fading. The pool of blood grows and grows until Kirihara is surrounded by the viscous liquid. The smell suffocates him and makes him blanch.

He doubles over and throws up.

"Get up," one of the vampires says. Kirihara gazes up, wiping his mouth with his hand because if he is going to die, he is not going to be found with bile on his mouth. "_Get up._"

The vampire grabs the front of his shirt and tugs him to his feet. His clothes are soaked in blood. He looks past the white haired vampire that's fisting his shirt down at Oshitari and Mukahi's bodies. There are visible holes in their backs where the silver stakes had entered. Blood has welled in the holes. Kirihara watches as the red blood of the vampires turns black as night.

"Hey," the white haired vampire says. Kirihara looks at him and is unable to control his body's violent shaking. "You're coming with me."

"My friends—" Kirihara looks at Zaizen, then Hiyoshi. He can't tell if they're breathing.

"Stop." The white haired vampire shakes his body and Kirihara groans in pain. "We're leaving. Yagyuu will take care of them."

"No, you can't kill them! You can't, you vampire freak!" Kirihara's lips feel numb. He stutters and slurs like a drunken fool, "No! Let me go, you can't! They're my _friends_!"

The white haired vampire brings up his other hand, fingers still clutching the blood drenched stake, and knocks the flat end of the weapon against Kirihara's head. Pain blossoms and Kirihara can't hold onto conciseness any longer. His body slumps forward against the vampire as he passes out.

Well, shit.

* * *

**A/N: Comments?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis nor do I own any real-world company mentioned in this fic. The title for this chapter, "Teeth Ground Sharp and Eyes Glowing Red," is from a cover of "This Is Halloween" performed by Marilyn Manson. I do not own this song nor do I have any connection to the artist.**


	3. Coffin-Bangers Were About to Arrive

Jirou puts a hand to his gaping mouth as he yawns and wishes he were asleep. He skips over a puddle of muddy water and lands on the soles of his shined dress shoes, but the heels of his shoes hit the water. His steps begin to squeak like a dying mouse. He tugs at his sweater, an uncomfortable thing Atobe claimed matches his eyes, and wishes he was naked. He prefers being naked and he knows Atobe prefers him naked as well. And bent over. And screaming.

Jirou grins pervertedly.

Suddenly, he stops. He wiggles his nose curiously and tilts his head to the side.

_Copper. _

He smells copper. He smells blood. Mukahi and Oshitari's blood. Another twitch of his tiny nose—_and_ human blood.

"Awesome!" Jirou's lips twitch into a Cheshire smile as he giddily says, "Something interesting! _Finally._"

He rushes forward, his figure a blur in the night, and skids to a stop when the smell of blood becomes overwhelming. He is standing in the center of a plaza and there is no one around, but he can smell it, the blood. His head goes foggy and his jaw jerks at the thought of a fresh meal. Maybe a virgin girl if he is lucky. Virgins don't taste any better, but he likes the hype.

He turns his head to a disturbing degree—almost like an owl in the dead of night—and stares at a row of nearby bushes. He turns his body to match his head and walks over, his pace quickening with each step. Soon he's skipping and laughing giddily. The beautiful scent of blood is getting stronger. His tongue runs over his fangs. He can practically taste it.

He kneels and parts the bushes with his hands. He sees four bodies—two he recognizes, then two others. No virgin girls, but two humans. Mukahi and Oshitari are dead, no question, but the humans' chests heave up and down. Jirou stands and prods one human with his foot; the human moves.

Hiyoshi and Zaizen are out cold, but very much alive.

(But not for long.)

* * *

**Chapter 3  
**_Coffin-Bangers Were About to Arrive_

* * *

Kirihara moves through the piles of bodies with heavy steps that make squishy, sucking sounds. He holds onto his broken arm and struggles to move in his blood-soaked jeans. He feels like he's walking against an ocean current with rocks strapped to his back; his chest heaves with the effort.

He collapses to his knees next to Zaizen's tattered body. He is kneeling in Zaizen's blood, but he can't seem to care. There's something in his head telling him that he's seen worse, done worse. Zaizen's gaping neck and blood do not startle him. The fact that Zaizen is not moving does.

"Wake up," Kirihara croaks. "Wake up."

"You could have saved him."

Kirihara's head jerks up. He sees a familiar face and eyes as red as his best friend's blood. Hate boils in his belly. He knows that's the vampire that killed Zaizen. But why was _that _vampire standing there? Why would that vampire who he once trusted so much be standing there?

"_You_."

It's a dream.

That's Kirihara's first thought when he wakes up. It's a dream, like always. It's always just a dream.

He stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling and continues to repeat the phrase in his head. He sits up and gazes at the rich colors, dark woods, and shining items that make up the room he is in. There are two windows and two doors, neither of which he recognizes. He rubs his hands over the thin fabric of the tan sheets of the bed and thinks that he does not have tan sheets.

Where is he?

He does not plan on staying long enough to find out.

Kirihara tosses the sheets off his body, drops his feet to the floor, and rushes for one of the two doors. (In the back of his mind he's thankful he's still wearing his clothes.) The first door is ajar and Kirihara can see the bathroom. He does not think he can escape from a bathroom like spies do in movies. The second door opens into a candlelit hallway that continues on to the left and right.

He goes left. He looks over his shoulder more than he watches where he is going. Wherever he is, it's huge. He runs around the floor for two minutes before he finds a stairwell. When he looks down the steps, he sees people below and continues on hoping there is another stairwell.

He hooks down another hall and runs straight into someone. He reels back and gawks at a black man with glowing red eyes.

"You're awake," the vampire says.

But I woke up, Kirihara thinks as his body jerks back in fear. Vampires are supposed to be in his dream, not standing there, flesh and blood, staring at him.

Oh.

_Shit._

Kirihara pivots and heads back the way he came. He can hear the black vampire following him and he doesn't think his impressive tennis court stamina will be all that impressive when compared to a vampire's. Every vampire related show or book he knows says vampires are fast. He does not want to test that theory.

He enters a room at random and shoves the door shut behind him, scrambling to lock it as the vampire pounds on the wood.

"Marui!" the black vampire shouts on the other side of the door.

Kirihara turns slowly, horrified, and sees another vampire. Two, in fact, together on a bed. Kirihara recognizes one as the white haired vampire that showed up to fight off Mukahi and Oshitari. The vampire whips the blood off of his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks it off until his snow white skin is free of any blood smears.

Once he recognizes the vampire, a thought strikes him.

"Where are Hiyoshi and Zaizen?" Kirihara asks.

The red haired vampire strides over with a familiar look on his face. Kirihara's seen that look every year when two people walk out of a room buttoning pants and fixing shirts when the fire alarm goes off. He just walked in on vampire sex—kinky blood drinking vampire foreplay, judging from the state of dress.

He wasn't sure if he should feel awkward or horrified. Probably horrified.

"Just listen to me," the red haired vampire says calmly. "My name's Marui Bunta. I'm not going to hurt you."

"_Where are Hiyoshi and Zaizen?_"

"I don't know. But I do know that if you fight us, this will be more difficult than it needs to be. So why don't we just go back to your room and we can get you something to eat?"

"I don't drink blood, you vampire freak!"

The white haired vampire on the bed laughs hollowly. "Trust us, kid, you're the freak."

Kirihara looks at the white haired vampire who stares back with vacant eyes. Kirihara looks back at Marui and realizes just how close the vampire is. Kirihara presses his back to the wall and holds his breath. They are close enough that Marui could bite his neck before he has time to think. His blood will spill and he will die without knowing what happened to Hiyoshi and Zaizen or why he is in this damned place.

Marui leans in and Kirihara waits for the pain that never comes. Marui slowly reaches for the door knob by Kirihara's hip and unlocks it with a click.

The black vampire pushes the door open and Kirihara staggers forward. The two vampires plank him on either side. He blinks and the white haired vampire is in front of him. Kirihara stares into red eyes and feels as though he is looking into Hiyoshi's headless body again. There's nothing there, absolutely nothing.

"Don't run," the white haired vampire says. Kirihara blinks. The vampire is halfway into the hall. "I'll tell Yukimura he's awake."

Blink. The vampire is gone.

"It would be easier not to run." The black vampire puts a hand on Kirihara's shoulder and his muscles go stiff. "I'm Jackal, by the way."

"I don't care," Kirihara says. "Where are my friends? They were with me when those other vampires attacked. What do you want?"

He's hyperventilating and feels like he will pass out any second. Vampires. He was kidnapped by vampires. This could not get any tripier.

"I don't know," Jackal says. "Yukimura will. You'll meet him later. Until then, just stay in your room. Someone will bring you some food."

"I want to know now!"

Marui turns Kirihara to face the door and pushes between his shoulder blades. "We couldn't explain if we wanted to. Just walk."

Kirihara struggles the whole way and tries to run two times, but he quickly learns these are not the type of creatures you want to mess with. Jackal ends up holding his arm in a deathly tight grip that cuts of all circulation to Kirihara's hand. His fingers go blue.

By the time they reach the room he had waken up in, they all but shove him inside like an insolent child. There's a trunk at the end of the bed with a tray of food sitting on the top. Kirihara has just enough time to look over his shoulder before Marui and Jackal are gone.

The door is closed and Kirihara is trapped.

...

They bring him food but he does not eat it at first. The tray sits on the trunk at the end of his bed. He does not trust food made by monsters, but his hunger overcomes sane thought. He stuffs his mouth with bread and cheese, lukewarm water easing it down into his stomach. If this is Hansel and Gretel, vampire version, he's dying with a full stomach.

He puts the tray on the trunk, then slides it to the ground. He opens the trunk, not sure what he is expecting to see. Maybe some black candles or blood candy. Instead, he finds books. He hates books; Hiyoshi likes them.

He lifts the first one and decides 'book' is not the proper word. It's a tome, ancient and old, with gold on the edges of the pages and faded words.

"_The History of Firsts_," Kirihara reads.

He crawls onto the bed and opens the book in his lap. It folds to the middle. The words are inked in by human—vampire—hands with intricate ornaments along the edges.

_—The Hyotei Clan; the richest of all vampires_

_The Hyotei Clan, most numerous and wealthy creatures, is lead by the First Atobe Keigo, created in 296 AD in a failed attempt to protect an alchemist's power and knowledge from Diocletian's wrath. His only known direct sons are Jirou, Kabaji, Mukahi, and Oshitari. Those who follow him are sons of his sons and do not show the First's prowess in battle. _

...

In the basement of the old victorian house in the middle of the forest, in the damp and dreary basement, Hiyoshi and Zaizen wake up. Their wrists are rubbed raw from cold metal chains. Their arms are twisted so they are behind their back where the chains are anchored to the stone wall. Zaizen wakes up first and lifts his head off of Hiyoshi's shoulder.

The room is full of wet, cold air that makes Zaizen's skin bump. The only two objects in the room are large metal table with leather straps hanging off the edges and another, smaller table with bumps and containers that he can't make out. Through the darkness he can make out a set of stairs. It looks like Frankenstein's laboratory.

"Hiyoshi," Zaizen says, prodding Hiyoshi best he can in his position. His head aches and so does his gut. He remembers the fight and frantically continues, "Hiyoshi, wake up!"

Hiyoshi groans and stirs. "What—? Where the hell are we? What happened?"

"Fuck if I know. Either I'm still drunk or Kirihara isn't insane and we're screwed."

Hiyoshi takes a moment to think.

"There has to be a way out. There's always a way out." Hiyoshi wiggles and his metal chains rattle. He bumps into Zaizen as he continues to struggle. "Damn!"

"Ssh," Zaizen quips. "I think I heard something."

"Are you the crazy one now?"

"Shut up!"

Over their drumming hearts and ragged breath, they can hear someone talking.

"Kabaji, do as Jirou wishes," a deep, flowing voice orders. "Jirou, if they don't answer, make them. Do try not to kill them." Another man with a higher voice laughs at this.

Footsteps fad off into the distance. Then the door opens and two men come down the stairs. One is short and lean, his hair blond and his lips stretched into a joyful smile. The other is two heads taller than the first with darker skin; it appears as though he has never smiled in his life. They have red eyes.

"Vampires," Hiyoshi murmurs, just above a breath. He never thought that word would scare him so much.

Hiyoshi's heart pounds against his sternum—thump-thump.

The short blond vampire walks over to where Hiyoshi and Zaizen are chained. He squats, tilts his head, and stares at them with a void expression.

Thump-thump.

Zaizen presses his back tight against the wall. Their lungs are full of stale breath, their nerves are frayed, and their minds are trying to work out what will happen to them.

Thump-thump.

Hiyoshi wonders how long it will take to die. Zaizen debates whether or not there is a hell and if he will be going there.

_Thump-thump_.

"Him," the vampire says, pointing at Hiyoshi. "I want him, Kabaji."

Hiyoshi suddenly can't breathe.

The large vampire comes over and produces a hypodermic needle filled with a clear liquid. Hiyoshi jerks into Zaizen and contorts his body to grab onto Zaizen's arm.

Kabaji holds Hiyoshi still with one large, calloused hand and uses the other to jab the needle into a vein on Hiyoshi's neck, injecting the liquid into his system.

Hiyoshi's body goes limp; his fingers uncurl from Zaizen's arm and his head lolls forward. His bones are jelly, warm and bubbly underneath his skin. His mouth tastes rotten, his numb tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

"What—what was that?" Hiyoshi pants. He can't move, can't breathe, can't think.

"What did you do to him?" Zaizen asks.

"Temporary sedative," the blond vampire answers.

"Where should I put him, Jirou?" Kabaji asks obediently.

"On the table. Take off his clothes." Jirou rises to his feet and moves out of the way.

The large monster unlocks the chains with a clang and click. With ease, the vampire has Hiyoshi over his shoulder. The table is cold and hard and rattles the jelly that is Hiyoshi's bones.

"Stop," Hiyoshi mutters or tries to as those large hands rip and tear his clothing until he is bare. He is exposed and vulnerable. The vampire could rip his gut open, take out his eyes, cut of his skin and there is nothing Hiyoshi could do to stop it.

"Go," Jirou says. "Don't let anyone bother me."

Kabaji goes up the stairs and closes the door. The room goes dark.

Thump-thump.

...

_Respected and feared by all supernatural species, the Hyotei Clan has remained a powerful source economically and militarily for hundreds of years. Their First is known to dabble in human business as well as supernatural making him one of the richest vampires alive. Their warfare is characterized by torture (it is speculated that Jirou is the one who perfected the method of flaying and to have popularized slow slicing) and the complete extermination of their opponent. _

...

Jirou only needs one hand to hold Hiyoshi down to the cold metal table. Hiyoshi's head lolls to the side as he struggles against the sedative to remain lucid. His skin bumps and his head pounds. He can't stop thinking that he is going to die.

"It's been a long time since Atobe's let me touch a human," Jirou says. He pulls the thick leather restraints painfully tight against Hiyoshi's ankles. He is smiling like a Cheshire cat. "I'm so excited!"

Next he moves to the wrists. The metal clips on the leather straps dig into Hiyoshi's skin. "You better not pass out. It's not fun if you're not strong. If you do pass out, I think I'll just get Kabaji to kill you so I can sleep. Sleep sounds good."

Jirou tugs on the restraints until they're tight, too tight, so tight it's painful—Hiyoshi grunts. "Don't worry, I won't fall asleep while I'm playing with you. I've waited a long time to try my new techniques. It's a combination of my old stuff and some psychological methods. It's going to be _awesome_."

Jirou laughs wickedly. Hiyoshi looks over to where he knows Zaizen is chained to the wall. Through the darkness, Zaizen stares back. Hiyoshi can't remember what Zaizen or Kirihara look like; his mind is consumed by the thought of his imminent death.

"Time to play."

...

_Through these methods, Atobe and his sons have killed five Firsts and two Slayers, now extinct. They are implicated in the death of others but there are no historical records to confirm their involvement. They have suffered no known defeat, though many consider the Seigaku Siege a defeat as the Hyotei Clan fled from their claimed area to avoid conflict. Many argue that this saved the Hyotei Clan from a humiliating defeat._

...

"What did your friend tell you?" Jirou asks.

"Nothing," Hiyoshi chokes.

Jirou yawns and presses down. Hiyoshi screams.

...

Kirihara stares and flips the page. "That's it? Where's the rest? Damn it!"

Kirihara tosses the book onto the bed and groans in frustration. He cannot stand this anymore. He needs answers and he needs them now.

Wasn't this the part in the movie when the hero gets some help? An awesome sidekick or a new superpower?

His green eyes catch sight of the book which had opened to another page. He picks up the book and looks down at the top of the page where a black and yellow sigil is inked into the parchment. Its faded like everything else in the book, but it seems a bit brighter than everything else.

_—The Rikkaidai Clan; the vampire kings_

_Of the many First vampires that roam the land, there is none more deadly than the leader of the Rikkaidai Clan, often referred to as the first vampire king. This beast, which is rumored to be thousands of years old, has created a loyal assortment of warriors and thinkers throughout the ages. His oldest living sons are Sanada and Yanagi, also known as the King's Bronze and Brain. His loyal sons—he is not known to have created any women—are considered royalty of unequal strength. _

_They have fought no wars, slew no Firsts, nor killed any Slayers. In recent centuries, they have put down the Great Werewolf Uprising and the Seigaki Siege (a private affair which not much is known about). Though they are rarely seen in battle, their words of war strike fear in the hearts of all who oppose them:_

_Death is coming._

There is no more.

Kirihara tentatively closes the book.

He leaves the bed and approaches the window. He needs to prove to himself that he is still on earth. He pulls back the curtains. Outside he sees a beast soaring through the night rain. It weaves in and out of trees and ducks into the shadows like ink.

Raindrops pelt against the window like hail. The droplets leave crimson smudges as they roll down the glass. It's raining blood.

When he realizes it, the soaring beast at the window. Claws bang at the glass and Kirihara jumps back. The creature has perched itself on the windowsill, its large, gray snout-like nose sniffing at the window. It's the size of a mini-van and probably three times as heavy.

Kirihara can imagine the stench that the creature could emit—something similar to week old roadkill squashed to pieces and covered in maggots during the sunniest, hottest days of summer.

Its eyes are round and lack pupils, its mouth stretched wide in a carved, twisted smile. Its solid gray beneath a thick layer of blood with specks of other colors like stone. No, not like stone, Kirihara realizes. It_ is_ stone down to every last fang and talon, but it as alive. It is alive enough to growl and snarl and hiss, its gaping mouth stretched so wide Kirihara can no longer see its head.

Kirihara knows what it said. _They're coming._

They always say, "They're coming."

The gargoyle's wings flap rapidly as its kicks away from the window, then continues to fly. Kirihara looks down to see if he's pissed his pants.

He closes the blinds, blocking out the bloody raindrops and the cries of a creature that is and is not real. He sits on his bed and breaths deeply.

It's not always a dream.

...

Hiyoshi can no longer feel his legs. His toes tingle and his muscles feel like viscous liquid swishing between his skin and bone. The cuts along his stomach sting with each breath he takes.

When Jirou slides a finger into the deepest of the cuts, Hiyoshi swears he feels the digit violating every inch of his body—from his insides to his chest cavity to his brain. It is not possible, he knows this, but he can feel it.

He wishes it were a dream.

Jirou drags the sharp edge of a scalpel down the center of his chest, stopping at his belly button. Hiyoshi's back arches as dollops of blood form along the thin, shallow incision.

"Poor human," Jirou says. "Let me help with that."

Jirou runs the flat of his tongue up the wound. Hiyoshi shivers in disgust as cold, wet muscle slides along his skin. He can feel his skin stitch back together like glue.

Jirou's lips press against his ear as he says, "Tell me what you know, little human, and I'll make it worth your while." Teeth clench at his ear and Hiyoshi almost vomits.

Jirou has been doing this for hours. Hiyoshi has lost all sense of time. Zaizen remains silent.

Then the basement door slowly creeks open allowing fogged light to stream into the dark room. Hiyoshi's eyes fill with water at the sudden burst of light and his head turns to the side to avoid the sharp brightness. Footsteps, one by one, calm and steady, come down the wooden stairs.

Creak. Another step.

Creak. It's getting closer.

Creak. It's here.

When they step out of the stream of light, Hiyoshi can see them. They're in a blood red pinstripe suit that matches their eyes perfectly. They're gorgeous and Hiyoshi cannot look away. His heart pounds and his brain drums against his skull telling him to run, scream, do anything but watch as the creature approaches.

A vampire in a suit. Hadn't Kirihara mentioned that?

Zaizen's chains rattle as he tries to sink back into the wall and disappear into the shadows. Even from the other side of the room Hiyoshi can hear his breath hitch.

The vampire walks over to the blond torturer and plucks the scalpel from his fingers. Jirou looks up at the taller vampire and pouts as he says, "But Atobe, I was just getting to the fun part. Just five more minutes? _Please_?"

"You've had your time. Leave me so I may show them my prowess..."

"I'm going to take a nap, then." Jirou gets up on the tips of his toes and wraps his arms around Atobe's neck from the side. Jirou's pale lips rub against Atobe's ear as he says, "Feel free to disturb me."

A sick smile fills Jirou's face as he drops his feet to the ground and walks up the stairs. He closes the door behind him and the room is dark once again.

Hiyoshi hears metal hit glass, a container of some sort. A swish of liquid and Hiyoshi's heart begins to speed up. There was something else about this one, different from the first. This vampire—this monster—is walking death.

"What do you know about your friend's dreams?" Atobe asks. His voice is everywhere and nowhere; Hiysohi cannot tell where the creature is.

Atobe taps the scalpel against the metal board Hiyoshi is strapped to. It's somewhere down by his hips.

_Ding. Ding. Ding. _

"I asked you a question."

Silence.

Where'd it go?

"I don't listen. I thought he was insane."

No footsteps, no indication of movement—the scalpel taps against the metal next to his throat. _Ding._ Hiyoshi's body tightens.

"I'm not in the mode for games, human," Atobe hisses. He slides the flat edge of the scalpel along Hiyoshi's neck, right over his jugular, then presses hard it against his throbbing artery. "You are very lucky that Jirou left you with the ability to speak. If you do not want to lose the ability to breathe, I suggest you tell me what your friend as seen."

"Werewolves, demons, girls with big tits and snake hair," Hiyoshi snaps back. "He's a nutcase."

The surgical tool moves before Hiyoshi can comprehend it. The pain goes to his spinal cord first, his brain too far away. Maybe that's a good thing because it hurts and for the briefest of moments he is not cognizant of the burning pain.

The scalpel digs into the middle of his open palm, slicing and cutting through skin as the vampire twists it in deeper. A scream tears from Hiyoshi's throat.

"Dipped in acid," Atobe says. He jerks the scalpel out out Hiyoshi's hand and he can feel burning blood drip down onto his fingers.

"I am superior being, you ignorant sack of meat."

Hiyoshi feels breath on his neck, cold and wet. It makes his skin bump and his heart race. The points of fangs brush along his skin pressing harder with each horrified tremble that wracks Hiyoshi's body.

"Tell me what I want to know."

"Go to Hell."

Fangs dig into Hiyoshi's skin and his world soars. He is flying higher and higher and if he dies like this, he will be okay. Zaizen will be okay too, hopefully, because any amount of pain is worth this.

But then the joy stops and the pain begins. His muscles freeze and his blood runs cold. He can feel his heart slow to a faint beat.

"Damn it," Hiyoshi swears. He wiggles his wrists and jerks his legs, but the leather is stretched taunt against his skin. He's dying and there's not a thing he can do to stop it.

His brown eyes flick over to Zaizen, who is forcing himself to stare because looking away would not do Hiyoshi justice. Hiyoshi does not scream. Even if he could scream, he would not. Hiyoshi Wakashi will not go out screaming.

"Zaizen," Hiyoshi gasps. Atobe's fangs cut in deep. "_Zaizen_—!"

Then it all goes black.

* * *

**A/N: Constructive criticism is loved!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis nor do I own any real-world company or program mentioned in this fic. The title for this chapter, "Coffin-Bangers Were About to Arrive," is from "Monster Mash" by Bobby Pickett. I do not own this song nor do I have any connection to the artist.**


	4. Seven Devils All Around You

Kirihara lifts up a glass full of amber liquid and knocks it against the glasses Hiyoshi and Zaizen are holding up.

"To completing our fourth Finals Week without losing out sanity!" Kirihara shouts. Half the bar raises their glasses and drunkenly join along. One group of fraternity brothers starts singing "When the Saints Go Marching In" for some reason.

Zaizen smirks around his cigarette. He pulls the death stick out of his mouth and says, "And to hoping that we won't die of alcohol poisoning this weekend."

Hiyoshi sips at his drink. Kirihara reaches over and forces the drink down Hiyoshi's throat, "Hurry up and get drunk! You're more fun when you're drunk."

Hiyoshi shoves Kirihara away, but orders another drink.

After a few more songs by the frat boys in the corner and more than a few beers, the three are far beyond tipsy. Hiyoshi keeps saying random Monty Python quotes that make no sense. Kirihara is one drink away from passing out and getting a sharpie dick on his face. Zaizen has a girl in his lap; Kirihara and Hiyoshi don't know who she is and they don't think Zaizen does either.

"She is way too hot for him," Kirihara slurs. Hiyoshi hits two empty bottles together, swears when one rolls to the floor, and disappears under the table to get it.

She is hot. Curvy, like she actually eats and doesn't care about her thighs. She's in jeans and wearing a red bra. Kirihara knows because Zaizen's hand is pushing up the back of her shirt. The other is tangled in her hair. It's curly, like Kirihara's, but it's moving like its alive, not like Kirihara's.

It's snakes. Her hairis _snakes_. One snake winks at Kirihara and he shudders.

"Aw, hell," Kirihara mutters. He just finished finals and his brain wants to play this game? Not tonight.

Kirihara kicks Hiyoshi under the table. "Dude, let's go play a set."

"You're drunk." Hiyoshi's head appears on the booth. He looks like a kid. "_I'm_ drunk."

"And Zaizen's shoving his tongue down Medusa's throat. Let's go."

They both drop a random amount of bills on the table, pat Zaizen on the shoulder, and they leave. They stumble across campus to the tennis courts. Half way there, at the plaza, Hiyoshi sits down on the fountain.

"Come on!" Kirihara shouts, spinning. He likes spinning. "Let's gooo."

Hiyoshi grabs his head, frowning. "It hurts."

Kirihara tumbles over, sitting next to him. "What? Your head?"

"This memory. It hurts." Hiyoshi doubles forward, crippled with pain. "Why does it hurt?"

Kirihara's head begins to pound and it hurts. His skull is full of razors or rusty nails—something sharp is cutting into his head and ithurts. The alcohol is out of his system and he's sober and it _hurts_.

Hiyoshi looks at him with red eyes.

Kirihara closes his eyes. When they open, he's staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of his prison. There's someone else in the room. He does not know how he knows, he simply does.

He sits up and sees a girl in the door. She has dark skin like coco with the right amount of marshmallows and dark hair held up in pig tails. Her eyes are red but she doesn't seem like a vampire.

"Apparently you're the hero," she says. "You don't look like it."

"Huh?"

"Come on. I'm supposed to take you to see Yukimura."

"Who?"

"And you're dumb. Goddess help us all."

She's hot and she doesn't have snakes for hair.

It's a start.

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**_Seven Devils All Around You_

* * *

"What hurt?" she asks.

Her name is Miyuki, Kirihara learns as she takes him through the mansion. She walks hesitantly like she knows this place just as well as he does, which is not at all.

"Huh?"

"You talk in your sleep. You said something hurt."

Kirihara rubs his head and wishes he knew. For some reason, that memory ached, the same way memories of lost loved ones did. It was as if his unconscious was trying to tell him something but it just couldn't; he wasn't a psychic freak so he didn't know how that worked.

"You said I was a hero," Kirihara says.

"I hope not. If you are, we're all dead."

"Hero for what?"

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

Miyuki stops in the middle of the corridor and looks at him. Kirihara looks back at her red eyes and still can't shake the feeling that she isn't a vampire. He's always had that feeling, like he could just look at something and know what it is—werewolf, vampire, fairy, hot medusa chick.

"You're a halfling, aren't you?" Kirihara asks, not sure where that word came from, but the moment he says it, he knows he shouldn't have.

Flames flick to life on Miyuki's palms. She inches towards him and his back hits the wall. She's hot, burning, scorching—sweat rolls into Kirihara's eyes and it stings worse than salt in a wound.

"Don't"—sparks shoot out of her mouth as she speaks—"call me a halfling. If you do, I will burn you alive starting with your cock."

Kirihara frantically stumbles, "I didn't—it just came to me! I don't even know what a halfling is!"

"It's an archaic term for my people and cruder than the worst words you know." She keeps moving closer, until she is smoking just inches from him.

"Then what—what should I call you?"

"Dhampir."

"Half vampire, half human."

Wait. What did he just say?

"Yes. It just so happens that my human half came from a witch. Hence—" She lifts her hand and flames engulf her coco skin. She points at Kirihara, the flames snuffed out. "Don't call me halfling again or I promise I will—"

"I get it, I get it! You'll burn me to a crisp starting with Kirihara Jr.."

Miyuki steps away and begins to walk like she hadn't just threatened to burn his dick off. Kirihara is starting to realize some girls can be too hot. He wishes Zaizen and Hiyoshi were there, but then he remembers his dream and wonders if he'll ever see them again.

...

Yukimura crosses his long slender legs and taps his nimble fingers against the wooden arm rest of his throne. Yanagi and Sanada stand before him, down on one knee, waiting for his order. His red eyes gaze at them without depth or meaning.

"What did you learn?" he questions, fingers stalling.

"It was arduous to breach Atobe's territory," Yanagi says. "His forces have doubled, perhaps tripled in size within a century. He is assembling an army, Sire."

Yukimura does not react. "Does he know of the boy?"

"We believe so."

"Is there anything else?"

Sanada says, "Akutagawa is more unstable than he has been in decades. The thought of blood is melting his sanity."

"That is to be expected. He was born from Atobe's chaos. In times of great blood shed, he is more dangerous than any army Atobe can create."

Yukimura begins to rhythmically tap his fingers—like a heart.

"The prisoner is coming with the boy."

Tap-tap.

"He is strong."

Tap-tap.

"Yet he is still weak."

The grand door on the other side of his throne room cracks open. Yanagi and Sanada rise to stand on either side of their creator.

...

At the top floor, though not the attic, Miyuki and Kirihara stop in front of a large ornamental door. Miyuki pries the heavy door open without using the large lion-shaped knockers the size of their heads. Kirihara follows her inside and his breath stops.

Kirihara's body feels as though it is crumpling in on itself, thin and weak like a ball of paper. He had seen vampires before the suited one, but this vampire is different. Yukimura—or who he assumes is Yukimura—is different. He did not radiate fear like the vampier in the suit, he radiates something more terrifying that Kirihara cannot consciously name.

He wants to run. He wants to go back to school, talk to his psychiatrist about this funky nightmare, and drink himself silly. He knows that is not going to happen because this is real whether he wants it to be or not.

For the record: he really doesn't want it to be real.

Four other vampires enter the room and stand behind Kirihara and Miyuki. Kirihara knows he should be more afraid of the fact that he is surrounded, trapped, and probably going to be roasted over a grill, but all he can think about is that he's seen that vampire before.

Yukimura was the vampire under the tree by the tennis courts.

"You're stalking me," Kirihara says.

"Do not speak unless spoken to," the monster on Yukimura's right growls.

"Sanada, calm yourself," Yukimura says. "Human, do you—"

"Do not call me human! You followed me enough to know my goddamn name! How long have you been stalking me?"

The vampire smiles.

Well that can't be good.

Kirihara figures he might as well continue before Sanada rips out his tongue, "Where are my friends? They were with me when I was attacked. I want to know where they are."

Yukimura gestures to one of the vampires behind Kirihara, "Yagyuu."

"We left them in the bushes with the corpses of Atobe's men. They should have woken up and continued on with their lives."

"_Should have_?" Kirihara snaps. "What if they didn't? Did you go and look? How could you just leave my friends like that!"

"That is none of our concern," Sanada says.

"You obviously need me for something so I think it is my concern!"

Silence.

Kirihara can only imagine what these things will do to him. They'll probably rip out his eyes and cook them in a stew. He's always had nightmares about vampires keeping him alive so they can drink from him for weeks; maybe they'll do that. Worse of all, they'll turn him and he'll turn into a soulless monster.

Shit, he doesn't want to die.

"You are correct: we need you," Yukimura says.

"Why?" Kirihara asks. "Why _me?_"

"The prophecy," the vampire continues.

"What prophecy?"

"_When Death walks under the hand of another and Life is suspended in the face of the reaper, a time of great disappear will spread across the land and the sky and the sea until all is consumed in an everlasting darkness_.

"_Two clans shall clash and blood shall fall like rain over the land. The last child of the beast of Light will bear arms along side the first child of the beast of Night to conquer the great adversary._

"_When all is done, Light and Night shall be one_."

Yukimura stops and gazes at the human in front of him, not yet knowing how deep that prophecy ruins, how powerful those words are, what is to come.

"How the hell do you get me from that?" Kirihara asks. Then it_ hurts_. His head throbs and his chest becomes heavy with unseen pressure. "It hurts, it hurts, _it hurts_—!"

"If you fail to battle alongside us, my clan will fall, the world will suffer an eternal night, and Atobe's monsters will roam free to slaughter."

"Shut up!" Kirihara roars. His eyes are golden.

Yukimura rises from his chair. "You are the hero, Kirihara Akaya, it is in your blood."

Kirihara blinks and his eyes are apple green, as if they had never been golden. The seven devils stare at him and he does not know why. He does not know his eyes had changed and does not know what that change means.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Kirihara says. "I'm not a hero! I'm a schizophrenic college kid who wants to get drunk with his friends and screw hot girls. This goes way beyond my crazy tolerance!"

Yukimura's red eyes gleam with power and Kirihara knows this is not the end.

"Jackal, take the dhampir to her room," Yukimura orders. "Marui, take the boy back to his room and leave him be."

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Kirihara snaps.

The ancient creature sits upon his throne and states, "I am Yukimura Seiichi, the first child of the beast of Night, the first vampire. I am First and Sire to the Rikkaidai Clan, the most powerful clan to walk the night. I am Death. You would do well to remember my name, Kirihara Akaya, as I have done well to remember yours."

_Death is coming_.

Kirihara's courage and spunk evaporates as he recalls the words from the ancient tomb he had read. He stares at Yukimura as Jackal and Miyuki leave. It is not until Marui physically turns him does he break his gaze with Death.

"If you ever talk to him like that again, I will kill you if Sanada and Yanagi don't beat me to it," Marui says with a kind smile. "Now let's go. My gum lost it's flavor five minutes ago."

Kirihara wonders if it was blood flavored gum and then thinks this is not the time for his usual questions. He is a prisoner to these monsters and though they need him, that did not mean they could not hurt him.

But why did they need him?

He is finally able to breathe once he is in the labyrinth of halls. Marui walks alongside him in short steps. Kirihara looks at him and sees a vampire and nothing more. Yukimura looked at Kirihara and saw right into his soul.

"What's on your mind?" Marui asks, not looking at him.

"How did you became a—?"

"A vampire?" Marui supplies. Kirihara nods. "I wasn't created, if you want to know. Not all vampires are created, only Firsts like Yukimura. The rest of us are born or sired or turned—there's too many words for it. Most use _turned_. The process is a bit complicated and I only know the basics. Niou understands it better than I do. Yanagi and Yagyuu do, too, and I think that dhampir witch knows..."

"Why is she here?"

Marui waves his hand to dismiss the question.

"I was twenty three in your years when I was turned. My father owned a large tobacco farm and a few ships. He became unexpectedly ill right before a shipment went out. Seeing as how I was the only one capable of sailing the ships that he trusted, I took over as captain with Jackal at my side. He was my friend, had been since he was bought for me. Everyone else called it slavery, said he was my servant, but it wasn't like that. I taught him to read and shoot and ride a horse. He taught me to fight and drink and fuck.

"Jackal and I set off with my father's crew. It was a simple trip from our docks to the northern docks. It should have taken about a month, but the sea was against us. I'd never seen a storm like that. It was raining so hard I couldn't hear myself barking out orders. Wood snapped and trying to steer nearly broke our arms. Our mast broke and we drifted into the middle of nowhere at the will of the currents.

"Soon we ran out the rations and smoked through the tobacco shipment. We were starving and dying of thirst. A few men jumped ship to swim for a shore that wasn't there. One put a bullet in his head, but he did it wrong, and it took him a day to die. My navigator was so thirsty he drank salt water and went out of his mind before dying in his sleep.

"During the day, all you saw was water. At night, you could look down into the dark depths of hell. For more than a fortnight I would gaze into the water and see a demon with red eyes staring back at me like it was behind my shoulder. When I looked around, there was no demon. I thought it was the hunger setting in. We were going mad.

"One night, I saw the demon, but it wasn't in the water. It attacked during the dead of night. I remember waking up to screams in my bunk—horrible, bloody screams, the kind too bad for movies. Jackal and I grabbed our guns and headed for the decks. It was too dark to see the blood, but you could smell it. It made us want to vomit. I think Jackal may have or maybe that was me.

"The demon cut the throat of everyone the ship until it was silent. Only Jackal and I were left. We had our backs to the wall. Our bullets did nothing. The demon told us he wanted us to be his sons. I was raised a Christian and Jackal knew the books well enough because I used them to teach him to read. Even with that child's promise of an afterlife, I didn't want to die and neither did Jackal. So we took this demon up on his offer. Come sunrise, we were no longer human, at least not in the way you think of humans.

"The demon was Yukimura," Marui says this as if it was the most obvious thing. "The demon is always Yukimura. He's not a demon, I know that now, but when you first see a vampire, no matter what you believe, even if that is nothing, you think they are a demon."

Kirihara remembers how he thought the vampire in the designer suit was a demon. He does not say this out loud.

Kirihara asks, "How old are you now?"

"Biologically I'm still twenty three and Jackal's twenty two. If you're asking for years, it's more than three hundred." Marui smiles and stretches his arms up to put his hands behind his head. "If you think that's impressive, ask Sanada how old he is."

Kirihara is not sure he wants to know. What was an impressive age for a vampire? Five hundred? Six hundred? A thousand? Kirihara cannot wrap his mind around living for a thousand years.

Marui leans against the door frame as Kirihara enters his room. Marui's hands are in his pockets now and his red eyes are following Kirihara.

"If you need anything, just wonder around. You get the hang of this place eventually." Marui begins to leave, but then stops. "Oh, and don't go outside. The gargoyles like raw meat. They don't care about heroes and prophecies. Last servant to go outside without one of us got his arms torn off."

Kirihara nods, his voice stuck in his throat.

Marui leaves with a smile, as if he hadn't just talked about someone's arm being ripped off by a stone beast.

...

Sanada and Yanagi leave when the others do. They run past the gargoyles that do not dare approach them and into another forest some hours away. In the middle of that forest, they scale the walls of an old victorian house covered in ivy. Up they go to the uppermost window where they hang like bats.

Inside the room, on a lavish curtained bed, lies Atobe in nothing but a pair of brown slacks. His naked lover stands at the dresser pouring a goblet of blood.

"Atobe," Jirou says as he returns to bed; he slithers on-top of Atobe holding a silver goblet. "When can I go back down to the dungeon? I'm bored sitting up here all day."

"It's the basement, Jirou, and not until I order you to." Atobe takes the goblet from Jirou's small hand and pushes the younger vampire back onto the bed. Jirou reaches behind him and grabs the footboard. "I have told you not to discuss business in my room."

"I'm still bored."

"I bore you?" Atobe sits on Jirou's thighs and cocks his head.

"No! You're fun to play with. I still like playing with others though. I get sleepy if I can't play with strong people, you know that, and I know you don't like me when I'm sleepy."

"Since when do you consider humans strong?"

"They want to protect their friend. Don't worry, Master Atobe, I'll make them break. I alwaaays do."

Atobe tips the goblet and blood pours onto Jirou's bare chest. Thick red drops run off his sides and bleed seamlessly into the black sheets.

"Manipulate me like this again"—Atobe slides his hands through the mess on Jirou's chest as he leans forward, lips hovering over the blond's—"and I'll be very angry with you."

"You'll forgive me." Jirou smiles then lets go of the footboard to grab Atobe's neck, crashing their lips together.

(Just outside the window, Sanada and Yanagi fall to the ground to return to the mansion with news of Kirihara's friends.)

Atobe pulls away and looks at the window as Jirou runs his tongue along his neck. "Atobe, can we play now? I said what you told me to and those Rikkaidai guys are gone now."

"You did well, Jirou, and you shall be rewarded," Atobe says. With forceful hands he holds down his lover and places his lips over his throbbing jugular. Fangs pierce skin and Jirou arches up, smearing the blood between him and his master.

The trap is set.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not completely happy with this chapter but we finally get into the plot which is what is important.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis nor do I own any real-world company or program mentioned in this fic. The title for this chapter, "Seven Devils All Around You," is from "Seven Devils" by Florence and The Machine. I do not own this song nor do I have any connection to the artist.**


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